I work the graveyard shift at a store
open all night. I had tap dancers circle me to the music overhead, gymnasts doing flips and cartwheels down my aisle, a female bodybuilder who stripped off her street clothes to run through her posing routine, and a paint department fire that made the ceiling look like the bottom of the tea kettle over the flame.

My cohorts all like best the visit from two lewd lesbian lovers, who used my flattop (rolling work table) for tongue-wrestling, crotch-pawing, nipple-pinching fun. I kept the action in my peripheral vision and behaved as though this was just an ordinary misappropriation of my work equipment.

The one facing me eventually said, "Look. It's not even bothering him."

I replied, "I'm a [name of company] professional and the only judgment I make is how best to fill your grocery needs."

What I didn't tell them was that I had internet and I'd seen this movie before. They left, performing some less audacious displays of affection on the way, but nothing trumped the routine done for my benefit.
( tromboner cherophobia is my kind of fun, Sun 13 May 2012, 14:09, Reply)